


The Quiet Lover

by jro512



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament), To Reign In Hell - Steven Brust
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jro512/pseuds/jro512





	The Quiet Lover

She knows him by heart: the slope of his shoulders, the curve of his back, the bulge of his thighs and calves from long lean bones. He is dark and cold and quiet. His lips do not speak, but his eyes do. And even they are quiet. Constant. Unreadable.

Except when the curtains whisper shut and the door scratches against the frame, and they are together in her bed. Beneath the rustle of linens and clothes falling to the floor, he kisses her with untold tenderness. His lips brush the thin skin behind her ears and around her nipples and in haphazard lines up her inner thighs, and he blows a wisp of cool air or licks or nips. It sends shivers rippling over her scalp and down her forearms every time.

She traces the lines of every muscle in his shoulders, his back, his abdomen. Her fingers are curious, exploring and stroking. But if he rubs the rough pad of his thumb over her nipple or bites at her earlobes, they stop and tense immediately, creating little crescent moon dimples in his skin. And how he loves to make her suck in her breath and waver atop those little peaks of pleasure, and how he loves to make those peaks grow a little higher each time. He strokes just his middle finger back and forth between her hot, slick folds, spreading the sticky moisture freely up to her quivering clitoris. With every pass of pressure, with every circle and pinch, she arches up against him a bit more. Whispers become moans. Kisses become deep and urgent. She grips his thick hair and pins him against her with an arm around his back. He revels in the sensation of her breasts pressed desperately against his chest.

Finally, he slides his fingers into her. With a few quick, hard strokes against her pulsing inner wall, she releases a cry of pleasure and settles back down onto the sheets. But he is not done with her. She squirms and her legs tremble, and now not only are three fingers slipping in and out of her drenched pussy, but his tongue strokes and his lips suck every bit of flesh surrounding it. He tastes her, and she is sweet and sharp and delectable. With one hand he tickles the underside of her thigh, and she howls in frenzied conflict between searing pleasure and ridiculous laughter. She begs him to enter her and end this unbearable delight. Still, he is quiet.

At last, her body releases again in wave after wave of gasping, sweat-soaked yelps, rumbling moans, sounds she could never imagine herself making in any other circumstance. Her body lies limp and exhausted against the bed. Her hair is damp and strung in tangles over her forehead and cheeks and neck. He pushes them aside, delicately with the tip of one finger, laying a kiss on each patch of skin he uncovers. She coos and whimpers against his neck, letting the gentle tingles of his touch pull her collapsed body back together.

Her fingers begin to explore again, languidly now, and he does not rush her. The roughness of his jaw, the firm lines of his chest, the curve of his buttocks, the lines below his abdomen, are all hers to take in. Eventually, he knows, she will reach his aching shaft. And when she does, she wraps her slender fingers around it and gives a little moan of desire. She still wants him, needs him, even after the whirlwind he has drawn her through. She strokes him, feels the thickness and the weight of him in her little palm, and he looks into her contented eyes. And finally his become readable. His brows draw together and his jaw clenches, and all his eyes speak of is desire, an unbridled need to be with her, around her, in her. She draws him toward her opening.

The head of his cock touches that hot, dripping pussy, and for a moment he loses himself. He thrusts his length deep inside her, and she cries out again. She wraps one hand around his shoulders and one hand under his buttock and urges him to fuck her hard. He obeys. She is slick and hot inside and out. The sensation of her curving flesh held tightly against him, of her thighs and buttocks bucking and bouncing with his, is wildly intoxicating. He slides a hand behind her head and buries his face between her neck and the bed. With every thrust he impels a scream of unrestrained ecstasy from her, and he can both hear it and feel it. In those long, steamy moments they rock recklessly against the bed, kicking sheets and pillows into the unknown. He will not satisfy himself until she is satisfied one last time.

And in the end, he can feel her coming. Her body trembles. Her screams soften into a high, continuous moan. Her abdomen tightens. And at last a final tension breaks, and she falls to pieces in waves and waves of glorious sound and heat and pressure. He falls with her, breaking his silence in a wonderful deep heaving groan of wordless gratification. They slump into one another, too breathless for words or kisses.

Many moments pass before their bodies return to calm. She strokes his cheeks and he strokes her hair. In his eyes, she reads blissful contentedness. With a kiss, he will even smile. In her eyes, he reads joy and weariness, but he knows that when sleep overtakes her, curled against him in his arms, only one of those will last til morning. In time, he will sleep too.

And in time, she will crumble his quiet inscrutability, and they will share their discourse by day as well as by night. And she will hear him whisper her name-- "Lilith."


End file.
